As I Recall
by boasamishipper
Summary: One thing Tully knows for sure was that you couldn't miss what you couldn't even remember.
1. Bookends

**As I Recall by boasamishipper**

***One thing Tully knew for sure was that you couldn't miss what you couldn't even remember.**

**After the positive response I got from Breath of Life, I felt the urge to write another Tully-centric fic. This one will be at least five or six chapters long, so be on the lookout for updates. :) With no further ado, I hope you enjoy 'As I Recall'.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...**

(*) (*)

_Time it was_

_And what a time it was, it was_

_A time of innocence_

_A time of confidences_

_Long ago it must be_

_I have a photograph_

_Preserve your memories_

_They're all that's left of you_

Simon and Garfunkel "Bookends"

(*) (*)

They're driving their jeeps out on the desert back to their lines, exhausted after a hard mission. Moffitt and Hitch are in one, and Troy and Tully commandeer the other one.

When he drives, Tully sometimes likes to think back to when he was a kid, remembering when he'd stood on the roof of his house with his arms outstretched, pretending that he was on a sailboat. He and his siblings would stay out there for hours sometimes, playing pirates, talking, sitting quietly with the wind ruffling their hair until their parents called them in for supper.

But then the memory always makes him sad, and he suppresses it while chomping down on his ever-present matchstick.

"Sarge?" asks Tully, wanting to make some conversation.

His sergeant looks over at him. "Yeah, Tully?" Troy replies, cocking an eyebrow.

Tully makes a turn, following Moffitt and Hitch up one of the dunes. He clears his throat, trying to phrase his question properly while chewing on his matchstick. "What're you going to do when this is all over?" he inquires.

Troy pauses, thinking it over. Tully knows that Troy always thinks an answer out carefully before responding to anyone's questions, so he waits.

"Not sure," Troy says, because after all this time in the desert, how can he just adjust to civilian life? Tully's right: what will he do? Now's as good of a time as any to begin thinking about it. "What about you?" he asks his private, who shrugs.

"I dunno about you, Sarge," Tully says with a small smile, "but I'm thinking of goin' somewhere quiet for once."

Troy chuckles as the jeep makes its way up the dune. Moffitt and Hitch are already a few yards ahead of them, slowly driving towards the flickering lights of their camp. The American sergeant thinks that he'd like nothing more than a beer and a good night's rest.

He gazes over at Tully, whose smile is wide and carefree, face turned up toward the moonlight.

And then the world explodes into orange and scarlet.

(*) (*)

Sergeant Sam Troy can't see through the black smoke. It threatens to smother him. He hacks a cough into the crook of his arm. The smoke is beginning to burn his eyes, so he shuts them. His coughing starts to hurt his throat.

He's sitting, more or less sprawled, in the sand when someone finds him.

"Sarge!" The person's voice is shrill as his fingers tap Troy's face. He recognizes the voice as Hitch's. "Oh, God. Sarge!"

Troy opens his eyes, and can instantly see the man relax. He tries to say something, but winds up coughing. "Wh-what happened?" he croaks, sounding like he has something lodged in his throat.

"Land mine," Hitch says. "That's what Doc says, anyways." He grips Troy's arm. "You alright, Sarge?"

His ribs are killing him, his head is foggy, there is a cut leaking blood on his forehead, and his heart is pounding like a drum. "I'm fine."

Suddenly, Troy remembers. "Tully!" He tries to sit up, and Hitch pushes him back down. "Hitch, where's Tully?"

"I…I dunno," Hitch stammers. "Uh, when you guys were driving up, Tully accidentally drove you into a land mine. The jeep—it exploded, Sarge." _Great_, Troy thinks. _Their colonel is really going to be pleased about that._ Hitch presses on. "You—you and Tully g-got blown off of the jeep in different directions. I found you, but..."

Suddenly, Moffitt's voice rings out. "Hitch! Troy! He's here."

Troy sends a stern look at Hitch, who immediately helps him to his feet. Leaning heavily on the private, the two men make their way halfway up the sand dune, where the smoking, charred remains of the jeep are scattered.

Tully lies in the wreckage, completely unconscious. His face is an eerie pale with closed lids, having somehow been spared the bits of glass from the broken helmet. His arms are lax at his sides, and his left leg looks sprained, if not broken.

Moffitt sits on his knees next to him, gripping his wrist. Troy is dumbfounded for a second before realizing that he's taking Tully's pulse. "Find anything?" he asks.

"He's alive," Moffitt assures Troy and Hitch. Hitch instantly relaxes, but Troy refuses to, at least not yet. "But," the Brit continues, "it's serious. Very serious. From what I can tell his left leg is broken, and he probably has a concussion. We need to get him back to our lines."

"How far is that?" Hitch asks quietly.

"About a mile or two."

Troy fights the urge to curse.

"Are you alright, Troy?" asks Moffitt, cocking an eyebrow. He stands up and walks over to the sergeant, tilts his head and thoroughly looks him over.

Troy feels very self-conscious of himself then, and angrily swipes the blood from the cut on his forehead aside. "Forget about me, I'm fine," he says gruffly. "It's Tully I'm worried about." He exhales slowly before looking over at Hitch. "Does your jeep still work, Hitch?"

"Yeah, Sarge."

"Alright. Moffitt, help me pick Tully up. Hitch, go start the jeep and clear out some room in the back for him." He sounds harsh, and as Hitch immediately scurries up the sand dune Troy makes a mental note to himself to apologize to Hitch later. His injured man was his top priority now, that's all.

Troy and Moffitt bend down and pick up Tully, grunting as they steadily make their way up the sand dune. "Watch his head," Moffitt instructs Troy.

Troy shifts position so that Moffitt carries Tully's legs and he carries Tully's upper half, making sure that his head isn't dangling.

Once they get to the jeep, Hitch helps them carry Tully into the back and try to make him comfortable. The private sits in the back with Tully while Moffitt drives and Troy stares out at the remains of their other jeep.

He turns back after a few moments and sees Hitch clenching Tully's hand in his own. Troy swallows, and turns away, the sound of the explosion and Tully's last words echoing in his mind like a bullet in a metal box.

_I dunno about you, Sarge, but I'm thinking of goin' somewhere quiet for once._

Sergeant Sam Troy hopes against hope that "goin' somewhere quiet" doesn't qualify as the afterlife.

(*) (*)

Private Mark Hitchcock paces outside the waiting area; sure that he's dug a hole in the floor by then. Moffitt holds a cup of coffee in his hand, but doesn't drink it. Troy gazes down at his feet, absentmindedly fingering the bandage on his forehead.

"What's taking them so long?" Hitch says after a while.

As if to answer the private's question, a doctor steps out of a room, marking something on his chart.

Troy gets up. "How is Private Pettigrew doing?" he asks the doctor.

"And you are?" the stranger asks. Hitch takes a quick look at the man's name tag, identifying him as Dr. Thomas Ames.

"Sergeant Sam Troy from the Long Range Desert Group," says Troy, scowling. "Over there is Sergeant Moffitt and that's Private Hitchcock. That's one of my men you have in there. I'm not going to ask again, Doctor. How. Is. He?"

Dr. Ames's eyes widen and he nods. "He's in serious condition right now," he says quietly. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Sergeant Troy; so far, it doesn't look very good. He hasn't woken up yet, and as you know, he has some pretty severe head trauma." He exhales. "To be honest with you men, it doesn't look too good for Private Pettigrew right now."

The private tries to control his breathing and fights to remain standing. Even throughout all of Hitch's injuries that had nearly cost him his life, the doctors had remained cautiously optimistic after the surgery. But to say that it didn't look good...

He glances at Moffitt, just to be sure that the doctor isn't lying. But the Brit nods solemnly, and Hitch takes a shaky breath.

_Tully_, he thinks, _you have to wake up, you just have to..._

"Can we see him?" Troy asks, his voice calm, but Hitch can tell his concern from the slight crack in his voice.

"Certainly. He's right in there."

"Thank you," Hitch says as they pass the doctor on their way into Tully's room. He's the only one that does.

The scene inside the hospital room isn't nearly as horrific as Hitch had been imagining this whole time, but is still jarring nevertheless. Tully lies flat on his back, an IV trailing from his hand up to a bag hanging above his bed, dripping some kind of clear liquid into his veins. The covers on his bed come about halfway up his chest, and his head's wrapped with white bandages. His eyes are closed and his chest steadily rises and falls, like he's just sleeping.

The idea is vaguely comforting for a split second before the illusion shatters, and then Hitch clearly sees his fellow private—his best friend—unconscious, his head wrapped in bandages, with a pessimistic outlook on his future set in stone by a medical man.

"Tully." Hitch sighs, unable to take this any longer. "Wake up. Please. Just wake up."

(*) (*)

His eyes open, and instantly his head feels like someone is banging on it relentlessly with a sledgehammer. His arms and legs feel heavy, and if he squints, he can see the barest outline of a cast on his knee.

_What happened?_ he thinks groggily. His throat is dry, like the desert. He'd kill for some water right about then.

After a moment, he realizes that he's lying in a bed, a pretty comfortable one too. There are two pillows stacked under his head. He reaches up to scratch an itch on his forehead, only for his fingers to hit a cloth bandage.

_Okay. This is...understandably weird._

He gazes to the side of his bed and sees a few matchsticks scattered on a nightstand. Almost as if on reflex, he places the end of one into his mouth and starts to chew on it, the motion calming him down significantly.

_Strange_, he thinks, taking the matchstick out of his mouth and placing it back on the nightstand. It's tempting to go back to sleep—he wants to, he really wants to—but there's something about the situation at hand that doesn't seem quite right.

He frowns and swallows, his throat blanching painfully as he tries to figure out what's wrong. When he moves his tongue, it's thick and sticky and licking his lips just makes it worse.

_Where's water when I need it, huh?_ He laughs, something that comes off sounding more like a croak.

Suddenly, the door cracks open and three men come in, whispering quietly. One's wearing some sort of hat that looks like a beret—a kepi, he corrects himself, it's a kepi—although he's not sure exactly how he knows this. Another wears a black beret and speaks with a different accent than the other two. The third one, whose hands are stuffed in his pockets, wears some kind of cowboy hat.

They must really like hats, he thinks, coughing slightly. He coughs again, and the three men instantly look towards him. The one with the kepi grins. "About time you're awake," he says, chewing on a piece of gum.

"You had us worried there for a while, Tully," says the one in the black beret. Tully. Is that his name? It sounds vaguely familiar, if anything. At least he has something to refer to himself as now. "Glad you're alright." Something registers on a subconscious level and Tully knows that the man's speaking with an English accent.

The one in the cowboy hat looks worried. His eyebrows scrunch together. "Hey, you can talk, can't you?"

Tully coughs again. Despite the pain in his throat, he speaks anyway. For this man, it seems worth it, even if Tully isn't sure why. "Y'all talk… too much," he croaks.

The men all smile slightly. "The doctor says once you woke up, you'd be okay to come back out with us after a little while," the gum-chewer says. "Once your leg heals up, that is. You're going to be okay."

_That's good. Isn't it?_ Tully frowns deeper, trying to make sense of all of this.

The British man tilts his head to the side. Tully feels uncomfortable, like the man's gaze can see into the depths of his soul. "Is everything alright, Tully?"

"I guess so," Tully says slowly. "Except, well…"

The one in the beret raises his eyebrows; the one with the cowboy hat crosses his arms over his chest. "Except what?"

Tully shrugs. He may as well just say it now. "Except...I don't know who the hell you people are."


	2. In My Life

**Thanks so much for the wonderful response to my last chapter! I hope you like this one too. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...**

As I Recall by boasamishipper

Chapter Two

(*) (*)

_There are places I'll remember_

_All my life, though some have changed_

_Some forever, not for better_

_Some have gone and some remain_

_All these places have their moments_

_With lovers and friends I still can recall_

_Some are dead and some are living_

_In my life, I've loved them all_

The Beatles "In My Life"

(*) (*)

**Previously on Rat Patrol…**

"_Is everything alright, Tully?"_

"_I guess so," Tully says slowly. "Except, well…"_

_The one in the beret raises his eyebrows; the one with the cowboy hat crosses his arms over his chest. "Except what?"_

_Tully shrugs. He may as well just say it now. "Except...I don't know who the hell you people are."_

**Present Day**

Sergeant Jack T. Moffitt stares incredulously at Tully, whose face is painfully blank. Out of every reaction he'd been expecting, from pain to just laughing the situation off, he'd never expected this one. "Tully," he says cautiously, "what do you mean; you don't know who we are?" The words weigh heavily on his tongue.

For a moment, Tully studies each of the men carefully, and Moffitt starts to wonder if perhaps the private is playing a joke on them. Maybe that's it. His heartbeat slows a little.

Then Tully's face goes blank again, and he shakes his head slowly. "I'm sorry, it's... I don't know you." Then he pauses again. "Should I?"

Moffitt refuses to believe this is happening. "Yes, of course you should," he says harshly. Tully flinches. The Englishman instantly regrets his words. "Come on, Tully, enough with this ruse." He swallows and smiles weakly.

Tully frowns. "I don't... I'm not... I'm sorry. I just… I don't know you, okay?"

_No, it most certainly isn't just okay,_ he wants to yell. _Why would that even be considered 'okay'?_ Moffitt's heart is hammering in his chest.

Hitch is next to speak up. "But," he stammers, "I..." He looks a bit frightened. "Tully—"

"Who are you?" the private interrupts. "Why... why do you know me and—and I don't?" He coughs into the crook of his elbow before continuing. "What's going on?"

_Wouldn't we all like to know?_ thinks Moffitt darkly. Troy is silent, and the Brit knows that his mind is working furiously to solve this problem. But how does anyone fight a problem they can't see?

The American sergeant speaks up. "Do you—do you at least know who you are, Tully?"

Moffitt and Hitch's eyes flicker back to Tully, who shakes his head. "No, sir," he says quietly.

Sir. Not Sarge. At this point, Moffitt can clearly see that Tully isn't joking. From everything Troy ever had told him, the Englishman knows that Tully had never called Troy "sir", unless it was absolutely necessary. It had always just been Sarge.

Moffitt bites his lip, trying not to curse. "I'll, uh," he says awkwardly, "I'll go and get a doctor." He exits the room, his hands shoved in his pockets.

He returns a few moments later, Tully's doctor at his heels. The room is exactly the same as he had left it; silent and strange, as if he'd stepped into an alternate universe where Tully Pettigrew was an amnesiac.

"I see you're awake then," the doctor says briskly, stepping closer to Tully's bedside. As if in a dream, Troy and Hitch move to the side of the room. "Would it be alright if I asked you a few questions?"

"Yes, sir."

By God. He just can't stand Tully's voice like that, obedient and quiet and mild. It should be sarcastic, yet kind, with a Southern drawl.

Then again, nothing is as it should be right now.

"Do you know your name, rank, and date of birth?"

Tully's cheeks flush bright red. "I, uh," he says, "I know my, um, first name. Right?" he looks over to Troy, Hitch and Moffitt for clarification. Hitch is the only one who nods. "My, um, first name is Tully." He pauses. "I—I don't know anything else, sir. I'm sorry."

"That's alright." The doctor doesn't skip a beat. "Do you know where you are?"

"Uh... I'm in a hospital?"

"Yes," says Dr. Ames. "And the hospital is where?"

Tully's face is blank as a sheet of paper. "I don't know."

"Do you know who the president is, Tully?" asks Dr. Ames. "Or where you're from?"

"No to both, sir."

"How about the year?" When Tully's face is blank, the doctor elaborates. "Let me help you out here, Tully. Is the year 1492, 1776, or 1944?"

Tully looks more embarrassed than Moffitt had ever seen him. He lets out a heavy breath in through his nose and out through his mouth. "It's..." he hesitates. "1776?"

Moffitt suppresses the urge to punch the wall.

"1776." Dr. Ames's calm voice doesn't change. "Last question, Tully, then that's it. Can you tell me who these men are?" He gestures to Troy, Moffitt and Hitch, who wait hopefully.

Tully doesn't skip a beat either. "No, sir," he says softly. "And I don't know who I am either."

(*) (*)

After a few more minutes of questions, the doctor exits the room. Sergeant Sam Troy follows, with Moffitt on his heels. Hitch had decided to stay in Tully's room.

"Doctor," Troy says. "Will his memory come back?"

The doctor sighs, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Sergeant Troy, all I can tell you is there are cases where it's possible. I had feared this would happen since he experienced a hairline fracture in the parietal-occipital area of his cranium—"

"But there's still a chance it's just temporary?" Troy interrupts, hope in his voice.

Dr. Ames purses his lips and nods. "Anything is possible. Nothing is certain in the medical world, Sergeant Troy."

Moffitt speaks up. "Dr. Ames, you said Tully had a hairline fracture to the parietal-occipital region," he says. "Is that what is causing the..." He can't even say it. Dr. Ames knows exactly what the Englishman means, though, and continues.

"Most likely," the doctor replies. He turns to a nurse who happens to be passing by. "Excuse me, Sarah, will you please bring me Private Pettigrew's folder?"

The nurse nods, and a few moments later returns with a brown folder. "Thank you." He opens Tully's folder and takes a quick look at one sheet of paper that Troy can't make out. "Once the fracture heals, the lesion created there will disappear and the synapses will get firing again; therefore allowing his memory to come back. It may be in increments, maybe all at once…but that is theoretically speaking, of course."

Moffitt nods like he knows exactly what the doctor is talking about, which, Troy realizes, he probably does. He sighs. "So what should we do?"

Dr. Ames and Moffitt turn to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I for one don't intend to keep him here forever," Troy says evenly. "Once his leg heals up, that is. You said it was a clean break, right, Dr. Ames?"

"Yes." The doctor nods. "As for his amnesia, I'd suggest occupational therapy, to help treat it—"

"You misunderstand me," Troy interrupts. "I mean, taking Tully out of here and bringing him back into the desert."

Moffitt's jaw drops slightly. The doctor looks stunned as well.

"Well?" Troy asks. "Won't the familiar surroundings jar his memories back?"

"Troy." Moffitt finally speaks up. "It isn't that simple. Your idea—it's good in essentials, but what if we end up under fire? What if Tully doesn't remember how to fire a gun and gets himself or any of us badly hurt?"

Troy has to admit that Moffitt had a point, but he doesn't want to leave Tully here. "Dr. Ames?" he inquires, looking toward the doctor.

The doctor sighs. "I agree with Sergeant Moffitt," he says. "However, there isn't much that we can do for him here besides the occupational therapy that I suggested earlier. As long as you don't do anything too strenuous, I don't see any problem with eventually taking Private Pettigrew back out onto the desert."

"How long will it take for his leg to heal?" asks Troy, smiling slightly.

"About six weeks, Sergeant Troy."

"Okay," he says. "Okay. And then... then we'll try to help him get his memories back."

(*) (*)

Private Mark Hitchcock leans against the wall of Tully's room, his mind working furiously. He knows that his friend has amnesia. He knows that amnesia has no treatment.

Translated simply, they're screwed.

Tully is staring at the door from his bed, his hands twisting together in his lap. He's muttering something to himself, but Hitch doesn't bother to try and make it out.

After a while, Tully looks over at Hitch, frowning. Surprised, Hitch takes a step back. "What is it?"

"How, um, do you guys know me?" Tully inquires, tilting his head to the side and looking genuinely interested. "I mean, do y'all work with me, are we related..."

Hitch swallows, his throat suddenly incredibly dry. "Yeah," he says. "We—we work together, Tully."

Tully nods gratefully and immediately asks another question. "What did that doctor mean when he said if I knew my rank? What does that mean?"

"It means...it means your position. We're in the army. Your rank is Private." He pauses. "So is mine, actually," he adds weakly.

Tully doesn't seem to notice, or maybe he had and just didn't care. "What's your name?"

Hitch's mouth falls open a little. "It's Hitch," he says after a few moments.

Tully actually laughs. "Is that your first name or your last name?"

Hitch tries not to be peeved. Tully—along with Sarge—had been the one to give him the nickname in the first place. "Neither," he finally says. "My name's Mark Hitchcock. You, Sarge and Doc call me Hitch. So does everyone, really."

Tully nods. "Okay," he says politely.

There's silence in the room. Hitch scratches at something crusty stuck to his hand, unable to think of anything to say.

"I'm going to sleep," Tully says after a moment. He lays back down, but suddenly props himself up on his elbows. "Mind givin' me some privacy, Hitch?"

Hitch nods and starts walking out of the room. Once he's out the door, he looks back into the room and sees Tully shut his eyes, breathing slowly, obviously trying to fall asleep.

"We'll help you get your memories back, Tully," he mutters heavily. "I promise."

(*) (*)

Tully exhales once the man—Hitch, he reminds himself, his name is Hitch—leaves and shuts the door behind him. At least now he can relax.

But he can't.

He can't relax knowing that he's not the same anymore. This he knows for sure. He's definitely not the man he once was, not the man Hitch and the others expect him to be.

Tully knows his first name, but not his last name. He knows he's a private in the army, but he doesn't know which army or which section of it. He knows he works with Hitch and the others, but he doesn't know what he does.

_Valid information_, he thinks with a frown. It's a little flattering to know they care, but it's mostly just annoying.

He knows that the men are treating him as if he's a china doll for a reason—and deep down Tully knows they'd never do that if the situation was normal, which it clearly isn't.

Is there anything left for him?

There's sleep, and he takes it as long as he can, knowing that when he wakes up again he still won't be the same.

He longs for the unremembered normality, and even deeper down Tully knows that he shouldn't.

Because one thing Tully knows for sure was that you couldn't miss what you couldn't even remember.


	3. Early Days

**I am amazed that in just two chapters I've gotten five reviews, three follows and three favorites. You guys are awesome! :) Today's update is kind of a short chapter, but I hope you enjoy this next installment of As I Recall.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...**

As I Recall by boasamishipper

Chapter Three

(*) (*)

_May sweet memories of friends from the past_

_Always come to you, when you look for them_

_And your inspiration long may it last_

_May it come to you time and time again_

_Now everybody seems to have their own opinion_

_Of who did this and who did that_

_But as for me I don't see how they can remember_

_When they weren't where it was at_

Paul McCartney "Early Days"

(*) (*)

**Previously on Rat Patrol**

_There's sleep, and he takes it as long as he can, knowing that when he wakes up again he still won't be the same._

_He longs for the unremembered normality, and even deeper down Tully knows that he shouldn't._

_Because one thing Tully knows for sure was that you couldn't miss what you couldn't even remember._

**Present Day**

After his first few weeks in the hospital room, Tully wants nothing more than to remember so he can just get the hell out. Several doctors, including Dr. Ames, float in and out of his room trying to catch a glimpse of the poor soldier who lost his memory, and think that his confused face and inability to answer any of their questions is the most interesting thing in medical history since the invention of penicillin.

The only one he hadn't minded as much was when his colonel had visited.

"You don't remember anything, do you?" he had inquired, awkwardly leaning on the doorframe.

Tully had shaken his head. "No, sir."

The colonel had left the room pretty quickly after that.

Hitch and the others come and visit every now and then. Their visits make him feel frustrated beyond compare, because according to the one in the beret—_Moffitt, that was his name, wasn't it?_—the only way to treat memory loss is if they constantly talked to him. 'Constantly', of course, being an understatement.

"Do you know who Captain Dietrich is, Tully?"

"How many brothers and sisters do you have?"

"When's your birthday?"

The more they ask, the more Tully wants to remember just so it will get the men to shut up.

Moffitt and Hitch keep shooting irrelevant bits of information at him, hoping that by telling him that he was raised on a farm or that his mother's name is Sarah will instantly trigger something in his brain and the memories will come flooding back.

The other one, Sergeant Troy, is different. When he visits, he just sits on a chair across from him quietly, tilting his head sideways and not saying anything for minutes at a time. Maybe he thinks that the silence will help him, although Tully doubts it.

Because if silence and uninterrupted noise won't cure his amnesia, than what, pray tell, will? There's no in-between point with the two.

Troy is sitting across from him again. Tully sits up in bed, sipping a glass of water. After a while, he begins to get exasperated. He places the glass down on the stand next to him. "Why do you keep staring at me?" Tully asks defensively, feeling somewhat self-conscious.

Troy starts, as if he's genuinely surprised by the question. "Does it bother you, Tully?"

"Yes, it bothers me!" Tully snaps. "It bothers me because—well, b-because..." Why _did_ it bother him? How could he phrase it? "You're all trying to get this...this reaction out of me. Like if Moffitt and Hitch tell me enough useless information, they think I'll just suddenly get my memory back. And—and then there's you, who just...just _sits_ there as if you can will my memories back into me by just staring! It's annoying!" He's breathing heavily by the end of his rant.

Troy is silent for a moment. "Can't fault us for trying, though, can you?" His voice is quiet and defeated. Tully feels slightly ashamed of himself. "What would you have us do, Tully?"

Now Tully is speechless. He splutters a bit before regaining the ability to speak. His cheeks are probably bright red by now. "Look, sir," he says awkwardly. "I don't...I'm not faulting you in any way here. It's...it's just..." His voice trails off.

"What, Tully?" Troy asks quietly.

"Just...if you want to tell me stuff, can y'all at least tell me things that, you know, are relevant?" Tully begs, feeling completely pathetic. "Please, sir. Tell me...tell me about me."

Troy looks like he doesn't know quite what to answer. "Dr. Ames says—"

"Damn him!" Tully barks a bit too loud, and immediately apologizes. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He clenches his fists enough that his knuckles turn white. "Please. Just...just, _please_. Tell me who I am."

The man's shoulders slump, and he rubs his forehead with his thumbs before sighing. "Okay," he says. "Okay, Tully. I'll tell you."

This is what he learns:

His name is Tully Pettigrew. He was born on a small farm in Kentucky. He's the oldest of six, and ran moonshine for a long time with his cousins, Leroy and Jesse, which is where he'd learned everything about fixing engines. He'd joined the army shortly after the Miracle at Dunkirk, and had been recommended for Commando training almost right off the bat.

"You're one of the Army's best wheelmen," says Troy with a proud, sort of nostalgic smile before continuing.

He's a part of the Long Range Desert Group, also known as the Desert Rats, which operates in North Africa. Their mission is "to attack, harass and wreak havoc on Field Marshal Rommel's vaunted Afrika Korps", quote endquote.

Tully learns, with a sickening feeling in his stomach, that they'd just been coming back from one of their missions when Tully had accidentally driven himself and Troy into a land mine. Troy had suffered some bruised ribs and had needed stitches on his forehead, but had otherwise turned out alright.

The more Tully learns about his life, he starts to wonder if perhaps the amnesia is a good thing.

Troy finishes, his hands clasped together in his lap. He leans forward. "Feel better now, Tully?"

Tully pauses. "I don't know, sir," he says quietly. "I don't know."

Troy stands up to leave. "I'm going to go," he says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Tully nods and looks down at his hands, lost in thought.

"One more thing." Tully looks up. Troy seems to be gathering his strength. "You'll get your memories back, Tully," he promises. "We'll be here for you as long as you want us to be."

Tully nods again, smiling slightly. "Thanks," he says. "Thanks...Sarge."

Troy swivels around, his eyebrows scrunched together, like he thinks Tully is playing a joke on him. His mouth opens and closes again, before smiling. "You're welcome," he says before leaving and shutting the door behind him.

Tully holds his head in his hands, trying to process the information that Troy had told him, but he finds no connection with it. It's as if he's just memorizing facts from a textbook, and that makes him want to scream, because he just _doesn't remember._

When he'd called Troy Sarge, there had been a flicker deep in the recesses of his mind, and he'd been hopeful, so hopeful...and then the briefest semblance of a memory had vanished like someone blowing out a candle.

He doesn't know Troy, or Hitch, or Moffitt, and he can't be the person they remember. He doesn't know how. He doesn't know himself.

"Why?" he keens, his eyes burning with tears that he refused to let fall. "Why did it have to be me?"

He knows that he wouldn't wish amnesia on anyone, so it's a moot point. But complaining does seem to make him feel better.

"Why?" he whispers, a tear dripping down his face.

As expected, he doesn't receive an answer.

(*) (*)

Sergeant Sam Troy returns to their quarters, where he sees Moffitt lounging on a cot and writing something down while Hitch is cleaning one of their guns. _It seems empty without Tully here too,_ he thinks, and immediately squashes the thought. He can't afford to think of that now.

"What're you doing, Moffitt?" he asks, sitting down on a chair across from both the Englishman and Hitch.

Moffitt looks up. "Oh. I'm writing a letter to my father. Telling him the day-to-day occurrences here."

"Are you telling him about Tully?" inquires Hitch, pausing in his work.

"Well," Moffitt swipes his hand across his forehead, "I don't know. Should I?"

"No," Troy says just as Hitch nods. "No, you shouldn't."

"Why not, Sarge?" Hitch asks incredulously.

"Because," Troy says testily, "I don't think Moffitt's father is any more of an expert on amnesia than any of us are, Hitch." He pauses. "I talked to Tully today. He told me outright that you needed to stop telling useless information to help him get his memory back because it isn't working."

"Tully said that?" Hitch inquires quietly.

"Verbatim," Troy confirms. He looks down at his hands, somewhat eager to share the better news with his men. "He, uh, he also called me Sarge."

"Did he really, Troy?" asks Moffitt, tilting his head. He smiles. "That's wonderful."

"Yeah," he says, because it _is _wonderful. "Yeah. He seemed lucid for just, uh, one second. And—and then his face went blank again." He coughs. "I told him everything today. About his life, about—about him."

"The doctor said you weren't supposed to, Troy—"

"You would've told him too if you'd seen the look on his face," Troy snaps. "Tully was begging me, Moffitt. _Begging_ me to tell him who he was. I couldn't take it. I told him everything."

"And?" Hitch presses.

"Nothing," he says. "Nothing happened. He just nodded like he was learning about _my_ life or something like that. Nothing happened," he repeats.

There is silence.

Hitch sighs. "Well," he says hesitantly, "he'll be back with us in a few weeks, so...maybe...maybe Tully's memories will come back then."

Troy suddenly feels exhausted, and very old. He'd heard so much about soldiers who suffered amnesia from trauma...but he had never expected it to happen to one of his men. He doesn't know if he can handle an amnesiac Tully full-time, but the sergeant knows he has to. Not only for his sake, but for the sake of his men. "Maybe so," he says quietly. "Maybe so."

_We aren't giving up on you just yet, Tully. Not by a long shot._


	4. Comfortably Numb

**Sorry for the delay in getting this written, I've been focused on my other fic The Other Side of Me. But I'm back now, so I hope you enjoy this next installment of As I Recall. :)**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...**

As I Recall by boasamishipper

Chapter Four

(*) (*)

_There is no pain you are receding_

_A distant ship's smoke on the horizon_

_You are only coming through in waves_

_Your lips move but I can't hear what you're saying_

_When I was a child I had a fever_

_My hands felt just like two balloons_

_Now I've got that feeling once again_

_I can't explain you would not understand_

_This is not how I am_

Pink Floyd "Comfortably Numb"

(*) (*)

**Previously on Rat Patrol**

_Hitch sighs. "Well," he says hesitantly, "he'll be back with us in a few weeks, so...maybe...maybe Tully's memories will come back then."_

_Troy suddenly feels exhausted, and very old. He'd heard so much about soldiers who suffered amnesia from trauma...but he had never expected it to happen to one of his men. He doesn't know if he can handle an amnesiac Tully full-time, but the sergeant knows he has to. Not only for his sake, but for the sake of his men. "Maybe so," he says quietly. "Maybe so."_

We aren't giving up on you just yet, Tully. Not by a long shot.

**Present Day**

Tully shifts uncomfortably, still not used to the crutch that Dr. Ames had given him to help with his walking. "Do I really need this?" he inquires of his day nurse, Darla.

Darla's laugh sounds like the tinkle of a door chime, and Tully knows that under different circumstances he probably would've flirted with her—she's definitely pretty, with her curly blonde hair and brown eyes...

But he doesn't want to. The only thing he wants is for his memory to come back. "Sorry, Private Pettigrew," she says with a small smile. He wonders why his questions constitute a small smile. "Doctor's orders."

He won't admit it, but he likes it when she and the other medical staff call him Private Pettigrew. It makes him sound professional—more than just some pathetic amnesiac. After all, in another time, Tully had been Private Pettigrew of the Long Range Desert Group. He'd been a respected soldier. He'd been a gunner and had driven a jeep.

He'd had friends, even.

But the past stayed in the past, and the past Tully couldn't even remember stayed there too.

"Private Pettigrew?" He realizes that Darla had been speaking to him, and blinks.

"Uh...I'm sorry, what?" Tully asks, feeling stupid.

Darla laughs again, and Tully feels slightly annoyed. "I just told you that your friends are here."

"They're not my friends," he mumbles, and luckily Darla doesn't hear him. "How can I be friends with people I don't even remember?"

The door opens, and Sergeant Troy, Sergeant Moffitt, and Private Hitchcock walk into his room. Tully feels uncomfortable, and looks at the floor, suddenly finding the dull brown rug very interesting.

"I'll leave you be," Darla says, bustling out of the room.

Tully coughs, unsure of what to say. _Wow_, he thinks sarcastically, _this is the first time in six weeks that I've seen all three of them together at one time._

He notices that the men don't look too good—Hitch looks like he hasn't slept in a few days, and Troy's eyes are bloodshot. Moffitt looks well put together on the outside, but his hands are covered in ink and Tully knows that the Englishman probably has been searching for the cure to his amnesia for the last month and a half.

_Little does Moffitt know, _Tully thinks bitterly, _there isn't a cure._

"So," Troy says awkwardly and adjusts his hat. Tully can't help but wonder if maybe he has a hat of his own, like Hitch's kepi or Moffitt's beret or Troy's cowboy hat. "You ready to go, Tully?"

Tully hesitates and looks around at the room, his room, with its lumpy bed, brown rug, and faded curtains. "As I'll ever be, sir," he says honestly. "As I'll ever be."

"Alright." Troy nods. "Let's shake it," he says, and they walk off, Tully limping behind them. He won't admit it, but he's thankful for the crutch—his leg hurts like the dickens without it.

As the men help him into the back of their jeep and Moffitt starts to drive, Tully can't help but think of what Troy had said.

_Let's shake it._

Tully's eyebrows scrunch together, and he bites his lip, trying to pinpoint why that phrase sounds so familiar.

_Let's shake it._

_Shake what?_ Tully wonders, and it's only when the men look at him strangely that he realizes he'd said it out loud. The tips of his ears are bright red.

"What'd you say?" Troy inquires, his own eyebrows furrowed.

_Great_, he thinks. _Now Troy thinks I'm a nutcase_. "Nothing," he mumbles, thoroughly humiliated. "It's nothing, sir."

Troy looks like he doesn't believe Tully for a heartbeat, but he shrugs and tells Moffitt to keep driving, which the Englishman does, albeit reluctantly.

Tully doesn't say anything for the remainder of the ride.

(*) (*)

Sergeant Jack T. Moffitt forces himself to keep watching the road ahead of him, even while every instinct in his body clamors for him to turn around and check on Tully. His fists clench tight on the steering wheel of the jeep, because he just can't take it anymore. He can't take Tully being this way anymore—he wants his friend back.

Moffitt chastises himself instantly, because he knows that he doesn't have the right to think that way. It isn't as if Tully is just doing this on purpose to all of them. The private can't just immediately stop having amnesia. It's a sad, if not irrefutable, fact of life.

The sky is blue, the year is 1944.

And Tully Pettigrew has amnesia.

Moffitt pulls the jeep up to their quarters. "Here it is," he says to Tully, unable to think of what else to say. "Recognize anything, Tully?"

Tully shakes his head. "No, sir," he replies, and the last dregs of Moffitt's hope vanish. They lead him inside.

"We, um, all sleep on these cots here," says Hitch, chewing on a piece of gum. "And cook, talk in the makeshift living room..." He sits down in a chair.

"What do we do on missions?" Tully suddenly asks.

Hitch looks at Troy, who half-smiles. "Um, whatever's necessary, I guess? Search and rescue, get supplies—Dietrich likes to mess with us..."

"Hang on," Tully interrupts, frowning. "Sergeant Moffitt, you mentioned that name awhile ago. Who's this Dietrich guy? Is he on our side?"

Moffitt laughs outright at the thought of Dietrich ever being on their side. "He, erm, he's part of the Afrika Korps. High-ranking Captain."

"Well, why do you—I mean, why do _we_ associate with this Dietrich guy if he's not on our side?"

Moffitt bites his lip, trying to figure out how to explain. "Well...he's an honorable man," he finally says. "He's not like the other Jerries—Germans," he corrects himself for Tully's sake. "Captain Dietrich has helped us before too, Tully." Moffitt doesn't know how to explain the Captain to Tully. Dietrich is an enigma wrapped in a puzzle wrapped in a cryptogram, after all.

Troy takes over. "He's hard to explain," the American sergeant says, "but he's a good person."

Tully nods, although a blind man could see that the explanation hadn't satisfied him. "Alright," he says, even though it isn't.

Moffitt sighs. "I'm going to make some tea," he announces. "Any takers?"

Much to his surprise, Tully nods. "Yeah, sure. Green, please."

Moffitt forgets to breathe.

"We can finish up that chess game too," he says with a wide grin. "I was only a few moves away from checkmating you."

Moffitt's eyes are wide. His mouth is slightly open. He supposes this is what it felt like to Troy when Tully had called him Sarge. None of the men move.

Out of nowhere, Tully's eyebrows scrunch together, his face twisted up in obvious agony. His fingers grind into his forehead, and his knees suddenly give and he collapses.

(*) (*)

Private Mark Hitchcock lunges for his friend and barely manages to grab Tully before he hits the ground. "Tully?" he asks, concerned and terrified. "Hey, are you okay? Tully!"

Tully's eyes fly open, and he looks disoriented. "Ow," he mutters, rubbing his forehead.

"Are you okay?" Hitch repeats, his heart still pounding quickly, because what the _hell_ had just happened? Tully had seemed so...normal...for a moment, talking about chess with Moffitt, and then he'd suddenly collapsed.

He wants to punch something, he feels so utterly helpless and frustrated.

"I'm fine," Tully grunts. "Hitch, mind helpin' me out here?"

Wordlessly, Hitch helps Tully to his feet. He can feel his friend leaning heavily on him as he moves to get the crutch. Tully takes the crutch from him with a mumble of thanks.

"Are you sure that you're okay?" Hitch asks again.

"I'm _fine_!" Tully suddenly snaps, his voice growing louder as he continues to speak. "I am just fine, okay? I don't need you hovering over me like I'm some fragile china doll—"

"Tully, you just collapsed!" Hitch interrupts. "You have a head trauma, if you hurt yourself—"

Tully laughs sardonically, and for a second Hitch doesn't even recognize the man in front of him. "Look, _Mark_, in case you haven't noticed, I have amnesia. I'm willing to bet collapsing because flashes of memories that make me lightheaded is medically sound. I am just f—" his voice cracks. "I'm fine."

"Tully..." Hitch wants to punch something again. Part of him wishes that the Sarges would get involved and help him out, and another part of him knows that it is his job to reason with Tully now and he can't back out. "I know that we don't understand how you feel," he says, treading carefully. "I can't even begin to imagine how this feels for you—"

"Yeah, you don't!" Tully shouts, interrupting him. "You don't know at all how it feels, Hitch. None of you do!" He glares at a silent Sarge and Moffitt. "You have no idea how it feels to wake up and not know who you are. I have to remind myself what my _name_ is..."

Tully is breathing heavily, and his eyes are red. "I don't even know who I am. I get these...these flashes of images and sounds that I think I should recognize, but I don't. I—I even hear snippets of voices sometimes." His voice cracks again, and Tully sits down in a chair, his face buried in his hands. His shoulders are shaking, and it takes Hitch a few seconds to realize that his friend is crying.

"Tully." Hitch swallows. "I'm sorry."

Tully looks up, wiping his nose on his wrist and snorts. "How am I going to g-get my memories back w-when I'm such..." he gestures to himself. "Such an emotional mess."

"You'll get them back," Sarge says firmly, finally speaking up. Hitch releases a breath he isn't even aware he had been holding. "Tully. Listen to me. You will get them back. I believe in you, and so does Moffitt and so does Hitch."

Moffitt and Hitch both nod.

Troy tilts his head, looking Tully over from head to toe. "Maybe it's time that you started believing it too."


	5. I Wish

***coughs* Um, hey? *dodges flying fruits and shouts of 'Where the hell have you been?'***

**I am **_**so**_** sorry for not updating this sooner. I have no excuse for forgetting about "As I Recall", but I hope you can forgive me.**

**But seriously. Ten reviews for four chapters? You guys are unbelievable. :) I hope you enjoy this next installment of As I Recall—only a couple more to go after this one...**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...**

As I Recall by boasamishipper

Chapter Five

(*) (*)

_Sneaking out the back door  
To hang out with those hoodlum friends of mine  
Greeted at the back door  
With boy thought I told you not to go outside_

_Tryin' your best to bring the  
Water to your eyes  
Thinkin' it might stop her  
From woopin' your behind_

_I wish those days could come back once more  
Why did those days ev-er have to go  
I wish those days could come back once more  
Why did those days ev-er have to go  
Cause I love them so_

Stevie Wonder "I Wish"

(*) (*)

**Previously on Rat Patrol**

"_How am I going to g-get my memories back w-when I'm such..." he gestures to himself. "Such an emotional mess."_

"_You'll get them back," Sarge says firmly, finally speaking up. Hitch releases a breath he isn't even aware he had been holding. "Tully. Listen to me. You will get them back. I believe in you, and so does Moffitt and so does Hitch."_

_Moffitt and Hitch both nod._

_Troy tilts his head, looking Tully over from head to toe. "Maybe it's time that you started believing it too."_

**Present** **Day**

Tully is silent, sitting in the passenger seat of the jeep while Moffitt tries to instruct him how to drive the vehicle, pointing out buttons and levers that look vaguely familiar to him. Hitch leans against another jeep, chewing a piece of bubble gum. Troy had been summoned to see the colonel for unknown reasons, but Tully's willing to bet anything that he owns that the two men are talking about him.

Yes, he thinks. Troy and the colonel are probably sipping coffee and pondering his mental state. It definitely deserves to be pondered, what with his breakdown a few days ago.

Tully snaps out of his trance as Moffitt lightly hits him on the shoulder. "Hey," the sergeant says, like he'd been repeating himself for a while. _He probably had_, Tully thinks, and feels guilty for a moment. "Have you been listening to me at all?"

He feels like he's being berated by a teacher, and he opens his mouth to say sorry, but what comes out instead is, "My middle name is Michael."

Tully's brows immediately scrunch together. _Where the hell had _that_ come from?_ He shuts his eyes and tries to focus, like Dr. Ames had been telling him to do.

_Come on_, he thinks, trying to coax the memory out from behind the locked doors of his mind. _Come on out..._

And then, like he's watching a movie, he sees a young boy, maybe seven or eight years old, wearing faded overalls and standing in a classroom. There are several children sitting in desks, all of whom are giggling. He sees a woman around his own age with her hands on her hips, berating the little boy.

And then he hears what she's saying.

"...Tully Marcus Pettigrew, have you been listening to me at all? Were you or were you not the one who put a frog in Billy's desk?"

"Yes ma'am," the boy says with a small smirk. "But my middle name is Michael, not Marcus."

Despite himself, Tully snickers. And there it is, and he remembers one more fragment. He remembers staying after class and washing the chalkboard. He remembers having to apologize to Billy, and not regretting his actions at all. He remembers the lecture he'd gotten from his parents, even though his father had laughed about it with him afterwards.

But more importantly, he remembers his full name.

_His name is Tully Michael Pettigrew._

Tully opens his eyes to see Moffitt staring at him. He chances a look at Hitch, who looks worried.

Maybe they should be the ones pondering my mental state with the colonel, he thinks.

"Your middle name is Michael," Moffitt repeats incredulously. "So from my entire, ten minute long explanation on how to drive a jeep, the only thing you got out of it was that your middle name is Michael?"

Tully grins. "Guilty as charged, Doc."

And in that moment, when Hitch laughs and Moffitt shakes his head before continuing his explanation, Tully feels whole.

(*) (*)

Sergeant Sam Troy returns from his meeting with the colonel, a new mission in hand to liberate a soldier—a Corporal Moldea, if he isn't mistaken—from one of the POW camps. He can't help but think of why the colonel didn't discuss Tully's condition with him: it was pretty common knowledge by now to all the men stationed in North Africa that Private Pettigrew had sustained amnesia from a land mine.

_Tully _had_ gotten better since his breakdown a few days ago, though_, Troy reasons, heading towards the jeeps where he knows his men are. _Maybe the colonel knows and doesn't want to press matters?_

From what the American sergeant can see, Moffitt is explaining something to Tully that involves a lot of hand gestures while Hitch chews gum and leans on the other jeep, watching the others interact. He gets closer, and hears Tully suddenly say, "My middle name is Michael."

_What?_ Troy is taken aback. Moffitt looks surprised and can't respond for several seconds. "Your middle name is Michael," he repeats in disbelief. "So from my entire, ten minute long explanation on how to drive a jeep, the only thing you got out of it was that your middle name is Michael?"

The sergeant swallows a snicker just as Tully beams, and his typical Southern drawl, says, "Guilty as charged, Doc."

Hitch lets out a bark of laughter while Moffitt shakes his head affectionately before setting off into another explanation of how to parallel park. Troy decides that this is a good time to approach the group, holding a file with maps and information about the POW camp. "We have a mission," he says gruffly as Hitch and Moffitt walk over to him. "There's a soldier that needs to be liberated from a prisoner camp a few miles from here."

"Who is it?" Hitch asks.

Troy winces, hoping that Hitch doesn't know the soldier that they have to rescue, but doubts it. The name had sounded familiar when the colonel had mentioned it to him, but that didn't necessarily mean that Hitch knew him. "His name is Moldea," the American sergeant says. "Corporal Sean Moldea."

The name doesn't garner a reaction from Moffitt nor Hitch, who shrug, but Tully flinches violently and nearly falls out of the jeep. "Moldea?" he repeats breathlessly, coming over to stand by Troy. "Kinda rusty-colored hair, blue eyes, and a scar on his cheek?"

His jaw nearly drops to the ground. "You—you know him, Tully?" Moffitt manages to ask, wide-eyed.

Tully's eyebrows furrow together and he stares at the ground, kicking a small bit of sand and watches it scatter in the air. "I don't know why I remember him, of—of all people, but I know him," Tully says. "We—we were in commando training together…and…and he…he talked weird. I remember that well. He always said 'bubbler' instead of 'drinkin' fountain'. It was weird." He pauses and looks to Troy. "But, um, yeah, Sarge. I know him."

_So much for not having an emotional investment on this mission, _Troy thinks bitterly. He forces a grin that feels more like a grimace, and the other men take it as such. "Well, then," he says, "Moldea isn't going to rescue himself. Let's shake it."

The men begin walking back to their respective jeeps, and as Hitch is about to climb into one of them with Moffitt, Troy feels the back of his neck prickle at the thought of what had happened the last time the two rode together. "Hang on," he says casually, trying not to sound like a raving lunatic. "Moffitt—can you take Tully this time around? Show him how to drive? You can explain it a hell of a lot better than I can."

_He gazes over at Tully, whose smile is wide and carefree, face turned up toward the moonlight._

_And then the world explodes into orange and scarlet._

It's a shitty explanation if there ever was one, but thankfully, Moffitt just nods slowly, looking a bit bemused as Hitch and Tully trade places. During the commotion of the two privates switching jeeps, the sergeant locks eyes with the Englishman, a whole unspoken conversation seeming to occur in less than thirty seconds.

_Don't worry. Tully will be fine, Troy._

_I know. But if I had it my way, he never would've been injured in the first place. I was the one who insisted he drive with me. I should've been paying attention to where he was driving. I should've—_

_It's not your fault. Stop worrying._

After a moment, Troy nods, and starts the car. The slow and steady rumble of the engine is like music to his ears, and he finds himself smiling. He could handle a mission—he needs a new challenge, one that he can actually complete, because after six weeks, Tully's amnesia has seemed almost…unable to be fixed.

And it's slowly killing him from the inside that he can do literally _nothing _about it.

Troy takes a quick look over at Tully in the next jeep and his smile immediately fades as he sees the private frowning, his arms crossed over his chest. Moffitt doesn't seem to notice—or maybe he has. Body language isn't an indication on whether or not he sees Tully looking upset, he muses. _In either case, Moffitt's smart enough not to say anything about it. He'll bring it up if Tully asks, but that's about it._

He sighs and begins driving out of the army base, Moffitt and Tully a few yards behind him. Hitch is silent next to him, and Troy hopes that he'll stay that way—he really doesn't want to talk to anyone right now.

_Damnit, please just let this mission be a success._

(*) (*)

They get in and out easier than Tully had been expecting. From the long list of Hitch's injuries—the ones he could remember, anyways—he'd thought that they would enter the Jerry prisoner of war camp amid gunshots, explosions, and several dead bodies on the ground. Instead, Moffitt had only had to threaten one man by holding the soldier's Luger to his head and saying a few tense words in German. The soldier had cracked like an egg, and had even showed the men to the prisoner's barracks himself.

But he'd relished the feeling of adrenaline coursing through his veins as he, Troy, Moffitt and Hitch had snuck around the POW camp, hiding in corners with their guns ready. _No wonder I became a soldier, _he couldn't help but think with the faintest smile on his face. _It…suits me, weird as it sounds. Like two puzzle pieces that fit together. I finally found something that…that I like._

"This is the place where your friend is," the soldier says, gesturing to a door that reads _Baracke 3_ on it. "He alright. Not harmed. No worry."

Tully rolls his eyes, the soldier's broken English getting on his nerves. Damn, he just wants to see Moldea—he wants to see the only person that he can actually remember.

He wonders if anything has changed from the bits and pieces he remembers of Sean Moldea—is he still the same man from commando training with rusty hair, blue eyes and said words like 'bubbler'?

_Here's hoping._

Troy looks a bit irritated too. "Moffitt," he says under his breath, gesturing slightly to the Englishman. "Can you—"

"What—oh, yes." The sergeant looks embarrassed as he pulls the gun away from the soldier's head. The German looks like the weight of the world has dropped off his shoulders and he shudders in relief. "Go on, get out." Moffitt waves impatiently, and the soldier scurries off.

"Danke," Tully calls lamely after him, feeling like an idiot. He completely misses the surprised looks that Troy, Moffitt and Hitch exchange from behind him. The private turns around and does a double-take. "What?"

"Nothing," Hitch replies instantly. "Nothing at all."

And Tully buys that, at least for now. He makes a mental note to ask Hitch about it later.

Troy pushes the door open with a creak that makes Tully want to flinch, and the men walk inside the small room. It's not what he's been expecting, but it's definitely not any better. The entire area smells of something musty, and his nose detects human body odor—his stomach roils, but he certainly can't turn back now.

He notices a bed shoved against the wall, more of a cot, really. A figure curled into the fetal position lies slumped on top of it. From what he can see, the figure is wearing a soiled, soot-covered camouflage uniform. A helmet, much like Tully's, rests on the floor next to the cot.

None of them move. None of them blink.

Tully braces himself and pushes aside Moffitt and Troy and Hitch, and suddenly freezes. He doesn't know what to do or say. _How do I do this?_ he wonders, hands trembling at his sides. "…Sean?" he finally says, his voice trembling—much to his embarrassment.

And the person sits up on the bed, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand as he tries to focus on them. His rusty hair is shaggier now, which gives Tully an idea just how long he's been held in captivity, and his blue eyes gaze at them with a sort of cool nonchalance before apparently realizing just what was happening.

"Either I'm daydreaming," Moldea says, his voice scratchy, "or have my knights in shining armor finally arrived?"

And then the seemingly insurmountable tension shatters into a thousand pieces. He can feel the relief coursing through his veins to the quick beat of his heart. "Sorry we're late," is all he can think of to say.

Moldea looks upwards and the look on his face is now one of amazement. "No," he says, his tone incredulous. "No way. Tully Pettigrew, yeah? What're you doin' here?"

"Rescuing you, what does it look like?" Tully retorts, clapping a hand on Moldea's shoulder and pulling him to his feet. Grinning, the other soldier embraces Tully in a quick hug. "I hear you're a corporal now, right?"

"Yeah, battlefield promotion." The corporal doesn't go into details, as is his norm. _I can't believe I remember what his norm even is! This is great!_ "What about you?"

"Private," Tully replies.

"No promotion, then?"

"Nah. Figured Private Pettigrew had a nice ring to it, I thought I'd keep it." With a flash, Tully remembers that he's not the only one in the room, and flushes with embarrassment. "Right, of course. Sean, these are my…" He hesitates for a moment. "Uh, my friends—Private Mark Hitchcock, Sergeant Jack Moffitt and Sergeant Sam Troy." He points to each one as he says their names, even more pleased that he can remember them all. _God, this is great. _"Y'all already know Sean, though."

Moldea inclines his head. "Pleased to meet you."

"It's nice to meet you too, Corporal, but I'm afraid we're wasting time," Moffitt interjects. "We need to get out of here before the rest of the guards take notice."

"Yeah," Troy continues gruffly. "We came in through the south. Corporal, you know what the quickest way out of here is?"

"Yeah." Moldea pauses, and then continues when Moffitt gestures for him to go on. "Down the hall, out the doors. Guards take their breaks for lunch, and the area's as empty as a store after an After-Christmas sale."

Under any other circumstances, Tully would've enjoyed the bemused look on his commanding officer's face, but chooses not to mention it. At least not now. "Alright," Troy says. Tully can practically see the gears in the sergeant's head working furiously. "Alright. We'll shake it out that door and down the hall. Tully, Moffitt, you provide a diversion. Hitch and I'll get Moldea out of here and come back for you."

"What sort of diversion?" Moffitt asks, a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Troy opens the door, gesturing Hitch and Moldea out before turning back to Moffitt and sending him the faintest of winks. "Surprise me."

And he walks off, leaving Moffitt and Tully alone in the room. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Tully?" Moffitt asks.

Tully grins. "Here's hoping, Doc."

(*) (*)

_I've said it once and I'll say it again, being a soldier ain't all that bad. The Sarge sure isn't bad with diversions—I bet that smoke bomb will keep those Jerries busy, at least long enough for us to tail outta here. Lord, I wish I could remember more things…it's comin', but it's comin' slow, like water dripping from a leaky faucet. I just need to be patient, like Dr. Ames said, and wait for it all to come back._

_Whatever's holding my memories back should've healed by now, shouldn't it? It's been almost seven damn weeks…just how long is this supposed to take? Are there any figures or statistics about amnesia, precisely? Note to self—ask the doctors once we get back to base._

"Tully," hisses Moffitt, gesturing for him to come forward with furious hand motions. After looking carefully both ways, the private races forward. His stolen gun feels awkward strapped to his back, but it's better than having no protection.

"What now?" he asks. "Where's Sarge, Hitch, and Moldea?"

Silently, Moffitt points around the corner, and Tully's stomach drops to his shoes as he sees three German officers surrounding the rest of the Rat Patrol. Troy appears to be talking rationally, using several hand motions as he speaks. Hitch stands tall next to him, while Moldea stands behind both of them, wielding a stolen Luger.

_Oh, Lord, why now? Things were going so well…_ "Ah, shit," he mutters eloquently under his breath. Moffitt looks just as conflicted as he feels. What could they do now?

Suddenly, a spark of an idea blossoms in his mind. It's dangerous, and certainly a risk, but what more does he have to lose? "Moffitt," he whispers furiously under his breath, "how do you say, 'over here', in German?"

"Hier drüben," is the sergeant's tense response. "Why—oh." Moffitt's not an idiot, and he figures out just what Tully is planning in a heartbeat. But it's already too late, and Tully jogs out of their hiding place, waving his arms frantically as he catches their attention immediately.

"Hey," he shouts. "Hier drüben!"

Just as one soldier cocks his gun and pulls the trigger, Moffitt tackles Tully to the floor with a thud. The bullet makes its mark in the wall directly behind them.

"Tully!" Moffitt's voice is frantic. "You alright?"

"Yeah," Tully gasps, the air having been practically squeezed out of his lungs. "A little…warning next time…please?"

Moffitt nods and helps him to his feet. Both of them point their guns directly at two of the soldiers. The one who'd fired his gun, who appears to be a sergeant, suddenly strikes out and grabs Troy by the collar, pushing a gun into his neck. Hitch and Moldea appear terrified and they don't know what to do.

Neither does he.

"Hold it!" came Moffitt's voice.

And suddenly, the room seems to waver in front of his eyes. _No, not now, please, not now, _Tully begs, praying for divine intervention. _Not now…_ He feels like he's going to faint, and his knees are shaking, but he forces himself to stand upright, and the disorientation disappears just as quickly as it had appeared.

_What the hell?_

And then he realizes what's going on—he's remembering. Really remembering. His mind, so previously filled with darkness, explodes as visions fly out of their locked vault and compete for their dominance.

"_I can fix his mouth a lot sooner than I can fix this Jeep…"_

"_Please, no fish!"_

"_I just finished his father's book—archeology, anthropology, Arabs, and all that stuff. Pretty wild things."_

"_When I was a kid, I could knock the eye out of a quail at fifty paces with my slingshot."_

"_I found a German field hospital yesterday, over the ridge – couple, three miles maybe…"_

"_This beautiful girl came dancing' over the hill…doing a lindy. What d'you think about that?"_

"_Looks like that dancing girl's out squirrel-hunting, Tully."_

"_Who was there, Tully, you or us?"_

"_Cotter! Get down!"_

"_What're you going to do when this is all over?"_

"_Not sure. What about you?"_

"_I dunno about you, Sarge, but I'm thinking of goin' somewhere quiet for once."_

"_Private Pettigrew. Very good wheelman. Ought to be, he was about the best kid moonshine runner in Kentucky."_

He remembers.

He remembers Troy's gung-ho attitude and strategic planning, Moffitt's readiness to do whatever it took for the mission to succeed, the friendship he had with Hitch (and _Tully _had been the one to gift him his kepi, he had been the one to do so!) and Hitch's tendency to get injured. He even remembers his team's unsteady relationship with Captain Dietrich.

He remembers commando training, his life back home, his first gunshot wound, the hot sun beating down on his back as they had trudged through the desert looking for water, his six brothers and sisters, running moonshine with his cousins, and gazing up at the night sky from the roof of his house the day that he enlisted for the army.

Dear god, he remembers _everything_.

It's all finally back.

Refocusing on the German soldier, his determination and confidence comes back fully, etched in every line on his face. He means business, and the gun in his hand doesn't waver. "Let him go," says Tully, "or else I'll shoot."

The German looks taken aback, and his grip slackens just a fraction of an inch as Troy knees the soldier in the groin, causing him to double over in agony. In the next heartbeat the gun rockets back in Tully's hand as the soldier gets thrown into the wall by the force of the bullet, blood splattering over everything.

The other two soldiers run off.

Moldea's eyes are wider than quarters. "Jesus," he says. "Remind me never to mess with you, Tully."

Moffitt immediately puts a hand on Tully's shoulder. "Hey. Hey!" he says, the second time more desperate. "Are you alright?"

Tully beams for what feels like the first time in a long time. "Never better, Doc," he replies, relief and elation etched clearly in every syllable. "I've honestly never been better."

**To be continued… :)**


	6. Time of My Life

**And so we're finally here. The end of the fic I've been working on since the beginning of June. *sighs* I never thought I'd get to this point, to be honest. :)**

**I'd like to dedicate this fic to UnaMariah1999—her constant reviews and positive feedback made this story what it is today. :)**

**Thanks so much also to , Guest, and Cruelest Sea for their kind reviews; KathyAnn5, Meg Manning, UnaMariah1999 and for their follows, and UnaMariah1999 for her favorite. I appreciate you all.**

**And now, without further ado, I'd like to present the final** **chapter** **of As I Recall.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Rat Patrol. Wish I did, though...**

As I Recall by boasamishipper

Chapter Six

(*) (*)

_Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road_

_Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go_

_So make the best of this test, and don't ask why_

_It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time_

_So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind_

_Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time_

_Tattoos and memories and dead skin on trial_

_For what it's worth it was worth all the while_

_It's something unpredictable, but in the end is right,_

_I hope you had the time of your life._

Green Day "Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)"

(*) (*)

**Previously on Rat Patrol**

_Moldea's eyes are wider than quarters. "Jesus," he says. "Remind me never to mess with you, Tully."_

_Moffitt immediately puts a hand on Tully's shoulder. "Hey. Hey!" he says, the second time more desperate. "Are you alright?"_

_Tully beams for what feels like the first time in a long time. "Never better, Doc," he replies, relief and elation etched clearly in every syllable. "I've honestly never been better."_

**Present Day**

The rest of the mission passes with relative ease, with all items checked off the to-do list. No one had suffered any serious wounds aside from bruises and scratches, Moldea had been rescued, some guns had been stolen...

And he had remembered everything.

Tully beams, just thinking about it. He's willing to bet that Troy, Moffitt, Hitch and Moldea think that he's lost all of his marbles, but he can't bring himself to care. As their jeeps fly up the dunes, scattering sand particles in their wake, all he wants to do is smile and reminisce.

It's such a good feeling to even be _able_ to reminisce, one that he would never take for granted again. He could probably recite the details of his eighth birthday party blindfolded with a gun held to his head. With his memory back, he feels like a superhero, able to do anything.

Well, he corrects himself, maybe not _everything_.

The logic doesn't put a damper on his exuberence, not in the slightest.

Tully lets his mind wander back to those thirty seconds in the POW camp where Troy had been held at gunpoint, where their situation had truly seemed bleak.

What would have happened, he wonders, if his memory hadn't come back when it had? Without his newfound confidence, would Troy have gotten shot? Would Moffitt had taken the initiative and told the soldier to back down? What would've happened if it had been Hitch being held at gunpoint, or Moldea? Had God and the universe itself aligned the circumstances just so he could get his memories back?

Great. Now his head hurts again, thinking about the infinite possibilities. _Might as well just be happy with it instead of pondering other ways it could've happened,_ he tells himself. _It happened, finally, and that's what matters._

Troy keeps gazing over at him, looking concerned. He knows Hitch and Moffitt and Moldea are probably wondering what the hell had caused his complete change of attitude back in the POW camp, and it's literally killing him to not blurt out to the entire world that he has his memories back, that he knows who he is.

But all in due time, he thinks, a smile playing on his lips. All in due time.

And then, in another bright flash, the circumstances of him losing his memory come back to him.

_"What're you going to do when this is all over?"_

_"Not sure. What about you?"_

_"I dunno about you, Sarge, but I'm thinking of goin' somewhere quiet for once."_

_And then there's a sound like a thousand thunderstorms all crashing together at once, and smoke is filling his nostrils as he's somehow thrown into the air. Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Troy thrown backwards, away from the damage, but his head slams back down onto the console of the jeep, and all he can think of is that he's glad he wore his helmet before everything goes black._

Tully blanches, biting his lip as his smile disappears for the first time since the return of his memories. _Yeah_, he thinks wearily, _maybe I should tell them all later. When we're away from any and all land mines, and back at base._

He tries to act nonchalant, but he flinches every time they go over a bump in the dunes, and doesn't relax once he sees the familiar fences and tents of their army base. Despite himself, Tully wants to start laughing at his friends' concerned expressions, knowing that they probably think there's something seriously wrong with him by now.

They pull up inside, both jeeps next to each other, and Moldea jumps out, letting out a content sigh. "Damn, never thought I'd say it, but it is great to be back here."

Tully agrees, feeling great now that he actually recognizes the place. He doesn't dare say it, though, and forces himself to wait, just a bit longer.

"Can you find your way to the colonel's tent, Corporal?" Moffitt asks. "One of us could show you—"

Moldea waves his hand dismissively. "That's not necessary, Sergeant Moffitt, really. I can find my way back...besides, I have really been looking forward to seeing my men again." He smiles fondly before holding his hand out to Tully. "It was really good to see you after all this time, Tully. Thanks for coming after me."

Grinning, Tully shakes Moldea's hand. "You too, Sean. Take care, alright?"

"You know me, Tully." Moldea snaps him a salute as he begins walking towards the colonel's tent, a small spring in his step.

"He'll be okay," Troy says quietly. For a moment, Tully had forgotten he was even there.

"I know, Sarge," Tully replies. "But if he gets caught again, we'll come after him, right?"

Hitch snorts. "Yeah, well, hopefully it won't come to that."

Troy sighs, getting out of the jeep. Tully, Hitch and Moffitt follow suit. "I may as well go with Moldea and tell the colonel what happened. I have a feeling that he'll be calling for one of us soon anyways."

"Alright." Tully nods. "But when you go in there, can you tell them that I got my memory back?"

He thinks it had taken divine intervention for all three of the men's jaws to drop at precisely the same time.

"What?"

"You have them back?!"

"When did this happen?"

"How come you didn't tell us?"

"Hold it!" Troy holds up a hand, his eyes wider than quarters as he stares bemusedly at Tully. "Hold on. Tully, when did you get them back?"

"Not too long ago, actually." God, there is no feeling in the world to describe his joy right now. "I, uh, got it back right around when you were being held at gunpoint, Sarge. I was terrified, and...and then it all just came crashing back!" He pauses, trying to find a way to describe it better. "You know how there's that sayin' of how your life flashes before your eyes? It was kinda like that."

"So you remember, well, everything?" Hitch inquires, and when Tully nods, he presses on, "Even the five bucks you owe me?"

"Everything except that," Tully replies.

Hitch laughs, patting him on the shoulder. "Welcome back, Tully," he says, his tone genuine.

Moffitt looks astounded. "It must've been a trauma trigger that did it, no other explanation other than divine intervention..."

"I'm happy with believin' that it was divine intervention, Doc," Tully says.

Moffitt rolls his eyes affectionately. "It's good to have you back."

"Good to be back." Tully looks uncomfortable. "I—I know I was a bit of a...well, a bit of an asshole, when I lost my memory, and I'm really sorry for that and—"

"Hey." Troy puts a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright. Even when it would've been easier to just give up, you didn't. You kept pushing...and you saved my life, too." The sergeant tousles his hair, and Tully gives him a small smile despite himself. "Welcome back."

And as they walk back to their quarters, side by side, Tully can't help but think of how happy he is now that it's all back to normal.

_Memory's a funny thing, _he concedes_. Even my most embarrassing moments, I know I can't live without 'em now. Every little thing matters. It makes us whole._

Tully truly knows that now, he is whole. His memories are back. He has friends again. He knows who he is.

He is Tully Michael Pettigrew, Private, member of the Long Range Desert Group, a Kentuckian, a former moonshine runner, a son, a brother, a soldier, a friend.

Despite the hiccups and setbacks over the last seven weeks, Tully knows that everything will be all right.

**I need a minute. My god, this is the first multi-chapter story I've ever finished in my entire life.**

**...okay, I'm good. *sighs* wow. :)**

**Side note—This is not going to be my last jaunt into this fandom. I'm planning on writing two more Rat Patrol stories, along with a Hogan's Heroes/Rat Patrol crossover, so that should be fun, LOL.**

**But getting back on track—wow. Thank you all, for giving this fic such an awesome reception. I appreciate it so very much.**

**Until next time... *salutes* This has been Boasamishipper, signing out.**


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